Warmth
by Yavapai
Summary: Miria had been steel for others for so long. Galatea wants her to remember to live for herself too. Shoujo-ai.


A/N: Unbeta-ed. Takes place between Chapters 82 and 90 in the manga.

Also, there is a slight bit of shoujo-ai. Don't read if the prospect of female/female makes you uncomfortable, though it is rather small.

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**Warmth**

Miria wondered if God would listen to her prayers. As much as she tried to hold onto the half of her that was human, yoki pulsed underneath her skin even when it was repressed. The seven years in the North, there were many times she wanted to let go. But…discipline…order…that's what had kept them alive, and she, their leader, would be the last to ever break that suppression. That didn't stop her yoma half from howling at her. Her control would never break, she was steel, but she would never be fully human. Did God listen to those with only half a human body? They were abominations, did their souls match?

She tried though. She had told them she would and it was all she could do now that her allies… her charges…her _friends_ had separated. Everything was for their survival. Maybe God would listen to that. They had been victims, all but Clare taken without assent into the Organization. Clare was a victim too in that matter, just different from the rest of them and all the more horrible because of it.

And they all had been pawns. Soulless experiments in the eyes of the Organization, existing only to help in their bloody, distant war once the experiment proved fruitful.

No longer though. And maybe God would listen because of what they were trying to do…topple the Organization and survive.

Both tasks might as well be impossible, but she would do everything in her power to bring their goals to fruition. Right now, all she could do was pray for her friends' safe return and remain steadfast. They were only one day gone. It would be sometime until she saw all of her constant companions of the past seven years again. She was their leader, and leaders do what they must.

She would not be weak. She could not be weak. She was steel. Every action was for their goals.

And prayer was her capacity to work toward those goals at the moment. Oh, she would continue training, she would continue pushing Tabitha's yoki-sensing abilities, and she would prepare this city for possible horrors. But prayer was the only thing that she could offer her currently distant allies. So Miria prayed even if God was snubbing her and the shell of a human that she was. In the past, she had ignored him. She always had ignored him when it came to herself, prayers only came for other people. What good had he done for her? But if it wasn't just about her…maybe he would listen when it was about others.

Galatea somehow seemed to have found peace in him. Maybe, it wasn't completely unlikely that God would listen to them. Galatea certainly seemed…

No.

Miria wretched her thoughts away. No. Enough time had been spent thinking on Galatea since defeating Agatha. She had to focus. She had to be strong. Her prayer had to go through. God could choose what to do once he got it.

"It's rare, is it not, to catch you unaware?"

Miria's hand flashed to the hilt of her claymore. The labyrinth of thoughts and mental focus that she had put her whole being into snapped away. Her surroundings in the meditation garden came alive in hyper-reality. Her eyes opened, taking in the half-light that illuminated one of the church's many small plots of vegetation. Green foliage, gray stone, and slivers of gold sunlight dominated all other colors. The air was cool against her skin and her knees were damp from digging into the soft soil that, in the shade, was still wet from the day's morning drizzle. Her neck was stiff from hanging forward. How long had she been there thinking—praying? More importantly, she relaxed, her arm hanging back down at her side as she sensed the woman of her thoughts.

"Galatea," She said in greeting.

"Miria. Why do you kneel here and not inside the church?" Galatea said.

"Here, I don't disturb the clergy or the laymen. I can remain here in peace for however long it seems."

"Curious, you find it and sense such a thing in the small amount of time you've been in Rabona. I am the only one who frequents this particular space. Though I remember you always had a knack for finding things that no one would expect Phantom Miria."

Miria made a sound in the back of her throat, "I apologize for intruding." A pause. She hesitated, more words on the tip of her tongue. She swallowed them.

Galatea exuded nothing but serenity. Even when she was missing an arm and held by that creature Agatha, she was exceedingly calm—enough to display humorous indignation at Clare nicking a lock of hair.

"It's no trouble. We all need a place to clear our worries from time to time," Galatea said after a moment. Her sightless eyes seemed to stare right upon Miria. "And some of us have more worries than others can even comprehend."

Again, Galatea alluded to more personal circumstances. What did she want? Miria chose to ignore the latter statement and climbed to her feet. Her black uniform, a second skin and well worn for her at this point, suddenly felt uncomfortable. She resisted the urge to pull at her collar as she regarded the other woman.

Surprisingly, Galatea was not in her nun's habit. Rather she was wearing the simplest of dresses—cotton of pale blue and short-sleeves that hugged her frame. Her blonde hair, ever impeccable, highlighted her face, beautiful even with the scars that covered those sightless eyes.

Miria peered at that face, wondering at what was hiding behind the visage. She found herself staring, gaze moving from the sightless eyes to the lips quirked into the barest hint of a smile. She caught herself after a moment and shrugged, knowing that Galatea would be able to sense the movement. "Do you know where Tabitha is? We need to keep to our training regimen. I…We have to stand ready."

"She's with the little one and the color haired on the Northern edge of the grounds. Tabitha's playing a game with the little one, testing how well she listens to instructions in the battlefield," Galatea said.

Miria brushed by the other woman toward the exit. "Thank you. I will leave you to your meditations."

"Miria." Galatea still could move like a warrior. Her hand rested on Miria's upper arm, in the space of bare skin between her gloves and shoulders.

Miria told herself she could have dodged it if she wanted, but that hand was warm on her skin, pulsing with life. She was surprised to realize she could still feel the strength and calluses indicative of familiarity with a sword on that hand. Miria could have continued on, but that hand made her hesitate.

"I remember you in the Organization. The girl who could be a phantom. The girl who shot through the ranks. The girl who could make her team function to the highest of capabilities," Galatea said.

Miria didn't move. Her thoughts centered on one question, what did Galatea want? There was no malevolence in her words. In fact, they were rather softly spoken, almost tenderly, like how the closest of comrades would regard each other. They had met before in their previous life and had spoken even. But both had played the role of the cold warrior in the frame of the Organization. For Miria, it was just that—a role. It was a way of survival and maintaining strength; one that she kept up even now, a second skin much like her uniform. It was a way of being. She was steel. Galatea too, it seemed. If the nun's habit and children weren't enough evidence, there was her interaction with them and now this. It was not hard for Miria to realize that God-Eye Galatea had been just as much a tool of the Organization too. A creature that had obeyed, fought, and died according to the Organization's rules. That role was a means of survival. It was what they were forced to be. It was…she lost her thoughts as Galatea dropped the hand that was pressed to Miria's skin. The fact that she missed the warmth and bodily connection struck her dumb.

But Galatea only moved to stand directly before her. Miria realized she ached for that hand to touch her again. It was…humanizing. She stopped herself from reaching out.

"You were a girl who learned so quickly the ways and details of living things," Galatea said. "The Organization could not have been more pleased because you could make any team a success. Is that what upset them so in the end? I think so."

"I don't understand," Miria said. Really, what did the woman want?

"Another rarity for you is it not?" Galatea said lightly.

Miria scowled. The woman was being infuriating now, all the more so because she still wanted Galatea to touch her again. "If you're done speaking nonsense, there is much that I still need to do."

She made to go, but Galatea's words quickly stopped her.

"Can I touch you?"

"Excuse me?" Miria only just managed to respond without a stutter. She was equally shocked to see a bit of color appear on Galatea's cheeks.

"Forgive me. I mean to say…well…do you mind…?" Galatea said slowly. She visibly exhaled and then gestured, waving the fingers of one hand to beckon Miria toward her.

Miria was unable to say no, or anything at all for that matter. Mute, she took a step forward. Only a sliver of space separated them.

Galatea's hands rose gradually, as if giving Miria a chance to back away. She didn't. Slowly the hands moved, and then stilled, hovering just over her skin. Another breath. Then the hands gently found purchase, cupping her cheeks. Miria leant into the touch, closing her eyes as the fingers of those hands softly traced the contours of her face. Galatea was speaking again. Miria did her best to listen.

"I have seen what you've done for your Ghosts. I have heard what you did to just survive the Northern War. Miria, what compassion drives you! Hardly weakness, it gives you the strength and humanity to carry lives forward. The Organization could never have hoped to hold onto you for long if they had understood," Galatea whispered.

"Compassion?" Miria said. "I believe you're the one ordinarily in the nun's habit."

"That may be," Galatea said. "But, you're the one who for seven years never rested from ensuring survival of your Ghosts."

"It was do or die. And, I am afraid, no matter how strong we've gotten, I have only brought them back here to die," Miria said, opening her eyes. She inhaled sharply as Galatea's fingers skimmed over her lips.

"Tabitha told me with no uncertainty that it was their choice to follow you. Yet you still take care of them."

"Of course!" Miria said sharply. Of course she would! There was no question in that matter. No matter what happened in their upcoming battles, she would take care of them.

Silence initially met Miria's words. She could not do anything because of those hands. What did Galatea want?

"…beautiful…" Galatea murmured in the pause that followed Miria's outburst. She brought those hands down to rest on Miria's shoulders.

Miria ignored Galatea's murmur and the sudden desire to have those hands returned to her face. Instead she focused on the other woman's sightless stare, missing the warmth but able to think. Galatea was giving her a pointed look. Miria struggled for composure and found it. "I'm not nearly so compassionate as you might think God-Eye. I care for my companions' survival. Yet, I'm taking them with me to topple the Organization, endangering their lives and countless others."

"Perhaps," Galatea said.

"Perhaps," Miria said coldly. What was the woman's point? She was done with this conversation. "Like I said, I have much to do and much to prepare. I'll leave you to your garden."

Galatea's grip was like steel, though. Miria could have forced her way out, but she found herself unwilling to break that hold as Galatea stepped forward, erasing any distance between the two as she enfolded Miria into her embrace. Miria remained tense even as the taller woman securely held her tucked underneath her chin, warmth all-encompassing.

"Do you not see? Am I really the blind one here?" Galatea whispered. "Miria, you've done everything for the sake of your companions in those seven years. Everything."

Miria weakened against the embrace. Had her time in the cold North made her crave any source of warmth?

"You bring them here for vengeance. You bring them here to stop the future destruction of lives. You do not believe you can be weak in front of them?" Galatea continued.

"I am their leader. They trust in me," Miria said. She wanted to say more, but the words were hard to get out. Her chest felt tight, the back of her throat sore. Where was her composure? Where was her steel? She wanted to reach for the hilt of her claymore, believing it would ground her, but she was paralyzed.

"You have not even had a chance to breathe the past seven years," Galatea said softly. "Let it go for just a moment, a heartbeat. Live for yourself, just for a moment. It's okay to be weak in front of me."

"I…" Miria looked up. She wanted…what did she want? "Galatea…I…I can't."

Lips were on hers before she realized. Warmth.

"I'm here for you."

**Fin**

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A/N: I don't know if I got a full grasp on the characters or not, and obviously I took liberties (it is shoujo-ai after all). I think it's pretty easy to tell that I'm enamored with Miria's character and intrigued by Galatea's…that's pretty much how it comes out in the fic too. However, I felt the urge to write this after reading straight through the Claymore manga this past week. I hope you enjoyed it at least slightly. Please review if you feel so inclined one way or another.


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